


Hot, Wet and Soapy

by AppleSeeds



Series: Windows [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Author had a fever while writing this, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Car Wash - Freeform, Flirting, Humor, M/M, Mentioned Gabriel (Good Omens), The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Thirsty Crowley (Good Omens), Unresolved Sexual Tension, implied sexual thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28341912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSeeds/pseuds/AppleSeeds
Summary: Part 2 of the Windows series (follow-up to the window cleaner Crowley fic!)In what Crowley assumes to be an act of revenge, Aziraphale puts on a bit of a show while washing the Bentley as part of a charity car wash organised by Gabriel.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Windows [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2062902
Comments: 35
Kudos: 231
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	Hot, Wet and Soapy

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so here's the thing... I wrote this about a week ago when I wasn't feeling well. I read it back today and decided to leave in the parts that are completely ridiculous because hopefully you'll find them entertaining. ;-) It's about as ridiculous as the window cleaner Crowley fic, which I also wrote in a fever-addled state.
> 
> I would strongly advise reading part 1 in the series first! Speaking of which, @antisocialsmond on Twitter posted some amazing artwork of window cleaner Crowley! <3 https://twitter.com/antisocialsmond/status/1341783331021729792
> 
> The series keeps its T rating (for now) but note that Crowley is THIRSTY and I think the best way to characterise it is that there are "implied sexual thoughts" and also "implied sexual responses".
> 
> Well, I'll just.... leave you to it, with my apologies, and a reminder that Oniria_Creation is at least a little bit to blame for this. ;-)

The man in the top floor office with the powder-puff, candyfloss hair was a heavenly vision of beauty and grace. _Seriously_ gorgeous. Crowley had noticed him on his very first day cleaning the windows of Celestial Solutions (see? _heavenly_ ), his white blond curls peeking out above his computer screen like freshly-picked cotton, undoubtedly as soft to touch as the finest silk (at least in Crowley’s mind, where thoughts of running his hands through it were rather frequent), delicate as a wisp of smoke that slips through your fingers with what could only be described as an ethereal caress. Crowley had seen a little more of the man when he had raised his eyes above the monitor, friendly eyes that twinkled beneath the bright, white lights of the swanky office, that always quickly dipped back behind the safety of the screen, like a lioness stalking her prey, trying to remain concealed until it was time to strike.

Sometimes the man would move to the side of his screen, giving Crowley a view of everything from the chest upwards, and, well (let’s just get to the point shall we?), he was fucking _exquisite_. He was always dressed impeccably, usually in a smart pale blue shirt and tan trousers that Crowley could just about make out through his limited view beneath the desk. Whenever he smiled, his whole face seemed to light up, his soft cheeks rounding and his eyes crinkling in the corners, and whenever he looked at _Crowley_... a flush of red peppered his cheekbones and he would dip his head, or his eyes would dart away to focus on something else, like the pot plant by the window that Crowley was considering mounting a rescue mission to save, the poor bugger. The mysterious man really _did_ look at Crowley as a lioness looks at a gazelle, and Crowley quickly decided that he wouldn’t mind at all being his prey. He could strike and pin him down, even bite his jugular if he wanted, and honestly, that’s how the man looked at him, like he wanted to pounce on him and devour him, and Crowley _loved_ it.

11:03 on a Friday soon became the highlight of Crowley’s week, when he would put on a show for the angel (mmmmm yeah that’s right) in the top office, stretching and leaning and bending and letting his T-shirt ride up to give the angel a little more to look at. Each time, the angel looked at him with hunger in his eyes, but a timid sort of hunger, like the lioness was afraid her prey would bite back, which, in fairness, Crowley would, but only if requested.

Crowley had spent weeks getting his flirt on through the window, hoping that one day the angel would approach more closely, but he never did. So one day, with the perfect excuse (that plant was begging to be saved at this point, Crowley could actually hear it calling out to him in his sleep – “help me, good sir (not sure why it spoke like that but it most assuredly did), for I have been in the presence of the greatest hotness ever known to man, and it has scorched me, withered me, left me trembling, shivering from too much heat, and lest I die, I implore thee fine gentleman, for the angel doth think thou most fine I assure thee, ask him to give me some fucking water for fuck’s sake, else I fear that today I am to die in flames. I mean, come on, my needs are pretty fucking basic, and lo, I bear witness, my liege, that _thine_ needs be most evident also, poorly concealed in thy ridiculously tight trousers, I doth declare most sincerely that those trousers hide _very little_ , m’lord, but I do believe the angel can help thee with that too”), Crowley had decided to beckon him over, his heart practically exploding when the angel had actually stood up, giving him his first full-length view of that gorgeous body (and the plant turned out to have made a fair point about the situation in his trousers), and approached him.

So, Crowley had done a good deed and saved a plant’s life, but seeing the angel up close had sparked an addiction, and just seeing him through the window was no longer enough. Crowley discreetly took a photo, and Crowley was _good_ at being discreet (the angel wasn’t, the angel was so indiscreet that Crowley assumed, erroneously, that it was intentional). When the final window of the Celestial Solutions building was gleaming and sparkling like the sea beneath the summer sunshine, Crowley went to reception and showed them the picture, asking for the angel’s name and phone number, and the person on reception couldn’t have given any less of a shit about revealing such information, which was rather fortunate for Crowley. _Aziraphale_... see, he really was an angel (obviously).

Aziraphale’s voice on the phone was like caramel (the kind of caramel you’d want to drizzle over your body and let a hot angel lick off you... hmm... where have we heard something like that before?), sweet and thick and syrupy, it flowed into Crowley’s ear and then trickled through his body, coursing along grooves and channels until ultimately, inevitably, it coalesced in one particular place, like a bog garden beside a pond, the water overflowing into it and causing all manner of plants to spring up. It wasn’t plants _springing up_ though, it was something else (although, speaking of plants, the dying plant was looking much, much better (its stem and leaves no longer wilting, one might even say more erect) and knowing Aziraphale had followed his instructions gave Crowley immense satisfaction and left him wondering what other instructions the angel might consent to follow).

Anyway, as you know, Aziraphale agreed to let Crowley take him out for dinner, and Aziraphale was even more stunningly attractive without the window between them, as you would expect. When Aziraphale called, at 17:02 (Crowley liked to imagine Aziraphale had finished work at 17:00 sharp, but had waited a whole two minutes so as not to seem too eager, which is precisely what had happened. Crowley would not have had the patience for such a slick move), they made plans to meet at some kind of restaurant inconsequential to the story (whatever you think they’d be in the mood to consume besides each other), and Crowley asked Aziraphale not to change out of his sexy outfit, although Crowley would have to make sure to stay well hydrated, it could be dangerous to be close to such a heat source for a prolonged period of time, to which the plant from Crowley’s dreams, of course, could attest.

Dinner was perfect. Aziraphale seemed nervous at first, as was Crowley, although he was always good at hiding his feelings (ha yeah right), but they both relaxed as the meal went on, Aziraphale becoming more animated and even leaning across the table towards Crowley, directing a beaming smile at him that felt more like a flamethrower, although not an unwelcome one, Crowley thought he could probably do with a good, hard flamethrowing. When they said goodnight, ready (but, in reality, not at all ready) to part ways, Crowley was brave enough to lean in close to brush a soft kiss against Aziraphale’s lips, and Aziraphale gently pressed his palms to Crowley’s chest and kissed him back, and Aziraphale’s lips were so soft and pliant, quickly demanding more, his tongue seeking entrance as Crowley parted his own lips to moan quietly against Aziraphale’s mouth. They broke apart, both gasping for breath, not taking things any further. No matter how much they might have wanted to, it was only their first date and some things were definitely worth waiting for.

Fast-forward to the following Friday, at 11:03, and another phone conversation, while Crowley shamelessly took his shirt off for the duration of cleaning this particular window (seriously, how were they getting away with this? Fraternising right under Aziraphale’s colleagues’ noses all this time? You’d think they’d look? But they don’t, it would probably take around six thousand years for them to notice given how oblivious they were), performing an ostentatious display that was a combination of thorough window cleaning and some form of dancing that Crowley invented himself, and Aziraphale licked his lips and watched the whole thing with an intensity that made Crowley feel like he could faint at any moment. Thank God for the rope tethering him to the platform, eh?

Gabriel decided to be annoying (haha, not really, he doesn’t _decide_ , it’s a permanent state for him) and make an office-wide announcement as Crowley and Aziraphale were talking on the phone (ugh, seriously Gabriel?). For reasons known only to Gabriel himself (and the author, who obviously just wants to write a reverse of the previous story), he announced that Celestial Solutions was going to be raising money for charity (the kind of charity Gabriel would support probably involved finding loving homes for neglected pretentious fancy scarves or something, but participation was mandatory), and that the top floor team was going to be running a car wash (yeah, that’s right, just go with it, suspend disbelief and come along for the ride, it’s going to be hot and wet and soapy mmm).

Crowley, of course, overheard this and knew immediately he would be bringing the Bentley to the car wash, even if the money he paid _would_ go to rehoming fancy scarves. There were very few people Crowley would trust to touch his precious Bentley, but given that he was more than willing (actually pretty fucking desperate by this point) for Aziraphale to touch something much more precious to him than his car, then he was certainly one of them.

They had one more date in between, followed by a goodnight kiss that was also hot and wet (but not soapy, ew) and left Crowley feeling very much like he’d run for a bus and then not got on it, another Friday spent outrageously flirting through the window (this time Crowley’s performance involved entangling himself in the red rope (I’m not obsessed honestly) that tethered him to the platform, slithering all around it and wrapping it around his legs, stomach, chest, arms (how long is this fucking rope? This is supposed to keep him _safe_ for fuck's sake?)... all while Aziraphale watched with parted lips and intense hunger in his eyes, filling Crowley’s head with all sorts of ideas (maybe there will be a part 3 exploring these).

On Saturday, Crowley arrived right at the start of the car wash to make sure Aziraphale wouldn’t be busy with anyone else’s car, slowly driving across the car park to where Aziraphale was waiting for him. He greeted him with one of his characteristic blinding smiles, stepping close to the driver’s side door, which Crowley opened to speak to him. He leaned back and stretched one arm out awkwardly to his side, trying to look cool.

“Hey.”

“Hello, Crowley.”

“You look very... smart,” Crowley observed, his eyes trailing appreciatively up and down Aziraphale’s body.

“Yes, Gabriel insisted that we all dress ‘professionally’.”

“Well, that’s a lovely shirt, I’d hate for you to ruin it. Do you think they’d mind if you took it off?”

“I’m afraid so. Unless I was foolish enough to get it wet, of course, then I’m sure Gabriel would understand.”

“Well, that does happen,” Crowley winked. Aziraphale blushed as he hummed his assent. “I _love_ the braces.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale blushed even harder, running his fingertips a little way down his braces, and Crowley’s tight T-shirt began to feel more constrictive... why did this have to happen on such a stiflingly hot day? (Spoiler alert – because the author doesn’t want Aziraphale to get cold).

Crowley gave Aziraphale the money for Gabriel’s stupid charity and closed the door, settling back into his seat to enjoy the show. Crowley had enjoyed many, many wonderful hours in his prized Bentley, but he had a very strong suspicion that what was about to happen would beat all of his previous experiences hands down (and not just hands, all body parts down, all except one body part firmly _down_ ).

Aziraphale stood beside the driver’s side window, locking eyes with Crowley as he very slowly, deliberately and seductively unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, like he was about to perform a striptease, the hottest striptease _ever_. It was indeed getting pretty hot inside the Bentley, the tarmac and concrete of London absorbing the heat of the day and radiating it into the air, making it hard to breathe, or maybe it was just looking at Aziraphale that made it hard for Crowley to breathe. Unable to open the doors while Aziraphale was washing the car, Crowley would just have to endure it, the oppressive heat choking him, making this all feel like some kind of fever dream (obviously starring Aziraphale). Next, Aziraphale untucked his shirt from his trousers, the most dishevelled Crowley had ever seen him, and then hooked his fingers beneath his braces, sliding them off his shoulders and letting them hang down below his waist. Delicious.

Aziraphale turned his back to Crowley and bent over far more slowly than necessary (hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhnnnnnnn... _doesn’t the man know that he should bend from the knees?_ Of course he does, because he was doing it on purpose, and Crowley was going to enjoy every single second of it. This was, presumably, to be Aziraphale’s _revenge_ for the way Crowley behaved while cleaning the office windows). He submerged a big yellow sponge in the soapy water and, holding the saturated, dripping sponge in his hand (being saturated and dripping was something that appealed to Crowley at this moment), Aziraphale approached the Bentley, pressing his body up against the driver’s side window as he cleaned the roof of the car. Aziraphale stood up on tip-toes, stretching, his shirt (and, Crowley caught sight of an undershirt... _nice_ ) catching on the window, the fabric ruching and exposing a little skin just above the waistband of his trousers, now pressed firmly against the window, smooth and soft and perfect... and Crowley’s fingertips found the window, tracing along that expanse of skin, cursing the barrier between them. Crowley’s tongue even darted out involuntarily; he wanted nothing more than to get his hands and his mouth on that plush stomach and nibble on it. _He_ was the hunter now, captivated by the alluring movements of his prey.

Aziraphale backed away slightly, peering down at Crowley, and only then did Crowley realise quite how close he’d let his mouth drift to the window. He made a show of licking his lips and snapping his teeth together, biting the air, a spike of arousal shooting down to his groin when Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he dropped the sponge, visibly drawing a deep breath.

Aziraphale seemed to shake himself out of it, returning to his bucket with another bend, even slower this time, as he got his sponge all soapy, filling Crowley’s mind with the tempting thoughts of a hot, soapy bubble bath with Aziraphale, letting him run that sponge all over his body, squeezing the sponge over his neck and letting rivulets of soap trickle down his back (Aziraphale has only done part of the roof so far so Crowley really needs to calm down, he has a situation developing below the waist that can’t be dealt with right now, right ok wow this story has more incorrect tense changes than Gabriel has fancy scarves... anyway...).

Aziraphale began circling the Bentley to finish cleaning the roof, and Crowley twisted around in his seat so that his eyes could follow him all the way. So much leaning, so much pressing hard against the glass, and wouldn’t that be more fun if Crowley was outside too, holding him firmly in place... or somewhere wetter... like a shower, pressing Aziraphale up against the panels of the shower cubicle in his flat... wouldn’t that be nice? Watching the water cascading over his body, leaving his skin glistening and well-lubricated (don’t ask, I don’t know... part 4 spoilers maybe?), all slippery like a sexy eel (I think I have a fever what even is this?).

Once Aziraphale completed his thorough cleaning of the roof, he re-soaked his sponge and moved around to the front of the car, giving Crowley an adorable little wave through the window. It shouldn’t be possible to be that sexy and adorable at the same time, it wasn’t fair, but then life isn’t fair, is it? Aziraphale kept his eyes on Crowley as he swept his sponge over the bonnet, and Crowley leaned forward, lips parted, as Aziraphale pressed his body against the car, stretching to reach as far as he could towards the windscreen.

“You’ll get wet, angel...” Crowley murmured to himself, his voice low and gravelly.

Aziraphale lifted himself up, the fabric of his pale blue shirt darkened from the water, clumps of soapy bubbles still clinging to him. He glanced down, furrowing his brow as he scanned his eyes over his shirt, before he performed an exaggerated sigh, and Crowley leaned even further forward, his face nearly touching the windscreen, as Aziraphale began to unbutton his shirt. It was _definitely_ getting hotter inside the Bentley. Crowley tugged at the collar of his T-shirt and shifted uncomfortably against the seat... fuck, Aziraphale was a _gift_ , a gift Crowley hoped _he_ would have the pleasure of unwrapping one day (this is a series, so it’s likely to happen I’d say). His shirt fully unbuttoned, revealing the white undershirt beneath that Crowley had had a tantalising glimpse of earlier, Aziraphale rolled his sleeves back down and slipped the shirt off, folding it neatly and placing it down on the ground. The undershirt wasn’t tight, but it showed off a lot more of the shape of Aziraphale’s delectable body, and allowed Crowley a peek at his biceps. Fortunately, Crowley was a highly intelligent man, more so than most people gave him credit for, therefore today, he was not wearing his usual tight jeans, but instead a loose pair of black jogging bottoms. Very intelligent man. Didn’t stop him feeling the need to wriggle around a bit more in the seat though.

Aziraphale ran his hands down his chest and stomach, smoothing out the fabric of his undershirt, and then began working his way around the Bentley once again, this time covering the windows with soap. He finished with the driver’s side window, and Crowley saw his fingertip appear against the window pane, breaking its way through the suds, and then moving through them in the pattern of a heart. As the soap dripped down the window and Aziraphale became visible again, Crowley blew him a kiss, and Aziraphale dipped his head and rubbed his neck before retreating completely, coming back a few moments later with a hose to rinse down the car.

Aziraphale stood right in front of the car, smiling mischievously as he pointed the nozzle at Crowley through the windscreen. Crowley leaned back in his seat, grinning and gesturing for Aziraphale to ‘bring it on’. Aziraphale wrapped his hand around the trigger of his hose and winked at Crowley, which hit him like a laser that fires horniness (good Lord I probably shouldn’t be writing while I’m not feeling well). Aziraphale then deftly twisted his wrist, turning the nozzle on himself, and Crowley leapt forward, tightly gripping the steering wheel and staring open-mouthed as Aziraphale pulled the trigger, spraying himself with a powerful jet of water. He quickly released it, standing, pretending to be indignant, _dripping wet_ , his soft blond curls now plastered to his forehead and that white undershirt soaked through and now completely see-through, clinging to his body, highlighting his chest, Crowley could even see his _nipples_ (just the usual two), and the swell of his stomach, and Crowley would perhaps have thought he should have updated his will before coming here today, were he capable of any thoughts at all. His hand drifted down unconsciously to his crotch, but he stopped himself. He couldn’t do that here, at least not without Aziraphale’s approval.

Aziraphale quickly hosed down the Bentley and then squelched over to the driver’s side door, which Crowley opened enthusiastically.

“Oh dear, I’ve rather made a mess of things,” Aziraphale said innocently, tugging his wet undershirt away from his chest. “I do apologise.”

His eyes drifted down to Crowley’s crotch, and Crowley made no effort to hide the effects of Aziraphale’s little ‘performance’.

“Not at all,” Crowley croaked, his voice much lower than usual. “Not yet, anyway.” Crowley basked in the glory of eliciting such a scandalised look on Aziraphale’s face. “That was fucking incredible. I didn’t realise you were such a tease.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ngk. Do you have to stay? Can I tempt you to come with me?”

“I’m afraid I do have to stay. Gabriel showed us a video of all the cold, lonely fancy scarves that don’t have anyone to wrap themselves around. He’s set us a rather steep fundraising target for the day.”

“Want to wrap myself around you and show you a steep fundraising target,” Crowley growled. Aziraphale blushed and ran his hand through his wet hair.

“I’d like that,” Aziraphale said bashfully, as if Crowley’s words had made any sense. “Are you free for dinner tonight?”

“Absolutely. Pick you up at seven?”

“I’m already looking forward to it.” Making sure his back was to his colleagues, Aziraphale blew Crowley a discreet kiss.

“Wait, you’re not going to spend the rest of the day looking like that, are you? I’ll get jealous,” Crowley teased.

“Oh, no, of course not, I have a change of clothes with me.”

“So you _admit_ you got yourself wet on purpose?”

“Wherever would I have got an idea like that?”

“Mmmrrr.... so fucking hot...” Crowley growled, looking Aziraphale up and down and starting to reach out for him, but then remembering where they were, letting his arm fall down at his side.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Perhaps we could pick this up later, after dinner?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’ll bring my rope and bucket.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, writing that took my mind off things and cheered me up when I wasn't well, I hope you enjoyed it too! <3
> 
> Parts 3 and 4 are planned but who knows when I'll get around to writing them, not sure if this is the kind of thing my brain needs to be in a feverish state for...? ;-)
> 
> As always, I really appreciate your kudos and comments! <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Hot, Wet and Soapy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28479708) by [Literarion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Literarion/pseuds/Literarion)




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